


Repose

by Fuzzball457



Series: K-Pop One Shots [7]
Category: ASTRO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Concussions, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick maknae, Yoon Sanha-centric, worried hyungs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25071067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuzzball457/pseuds/Fuzzball457
Summary: It's just a little bump on the head, Sanha thinks to himself, he can make it through the day.
Relationships: Yoon Sanha & Everyone, Yoon Sanha/Everyone
Series: K-Pop One Shots [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591903
Comments: 10
Kudos: 167





	Repose

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, this is my first Astro fic! It's not my best writing, but this is really just meant to be soft and self-indulgent. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> \------
> 
> This is part of a multifandom K-pop series of one-shots that will include hurt/comfort, angst, all sorts of emotional struggles, probably some exploration of sexuality, polyamory, etc. Some will be canon, some AU. Although this isn't request-driven, feel free to leave a comment if there's a certain idol and/or situation you'd like to see! I can't make any promises because I don't have much time to write so sometimes you've just got to follow the muse - but I'll do my best. Currently includes Monsta X, BTS, Got7, iKON, Astro and Stray Kids - I have plans to include NCT, and maybe EXO and Super Junior. Honestly the bands I'm into expands by the day so who even knows. (*Omg, I wrote down a list of ideas I wanted to explore in this series and it was more than 20 (?!?!) so stay tuned.)

Moonbin’s fist comes down on the door in three sharp raps. “Sanha! Hurry up! We need to go, like right now!”

“Just a second,” Sanha calls back around the toothpaste foam spilling out of his mouth. Of all the days to wake-up late…

Spitting out the foam he takes a quick peek in the mirror and assesses the damage. He certainly looks like he woke up just fifteen minutes ago (which he did), but it’s nothing the stylists won’t be able to fix. They have two interviews that morning, one with a performance of their latest single as well, but he has the whole car ride to get his head in the game.

“Sanha!” Jinwoo shouts.

Sanha jolts towards the door before realizing his phone is still sitting on the back of the toilet from where his half-asleep brain first deposited it when he stumbled in. He spins back to grab it—truly schedules would be unbearable without it—but his socks slip on the tile, made worse by those few drops of water he’d been too lazy to clean up after he washed his face, and he goes down in a flurry of limbs. His wrist bounces sharply against the edge of the sink but it’s the moment his head knocks into the edge of the tub that his knees go out from under him completely.

The pain comes first in a sharp explosion that recedes almost immediately, only to be followed by a second wave of rolling agony.

“Shit,” he hisses, bring his hand to a spot on the side of his head a few inches above his ear. It’s mercifully dry, free of any blood that might indicate a serious head injury, but damn if it doesn’t hurt. His ears are practically ringing with the echoes of the impact.

“Yoon Sanha, I swear to god—”

He just barely gets himself up to a sitting position before Moonbin shoves the door open, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted in annoyance. Oh right, they’re supposed to go places, do things. That’s why he was rushing, right?

“We’re gonna be—why are you on the floor? Are you alright?”

“Just tripped,” he says. His voice is a thousand miles away, reaching him as if through poor quality earbuds.

“Well, are you hurt?” Moonbin asks. His eyes are wide now and the corner of his lower lip is drawn in between his teeth to nibble anxiously at.

“I banged my wrist?” At least he’s pretty sure he did. He holds up the offending limb, but there’s no ache even as a red mark is blossoming just below his wrist bone. His head is still pulsing with pain, but it’s far more tolerable than even a few seconds ago. If he can keep the whole flailing and slipping so hard he nearly knocked himself out thing a secret, that’d be great. He’d rather not add more fodder to the Sanha’s Gangly Body is Hilarious running joke they have, thank you very much.

“We’ll put some ice on it in the car, but we’ve really got to get going. The Slow Rapper is moving faster than you.”

The world blurs for just a second as Moonbin helps him to his feet, folding and doubling over itself. His stomach turns and spit floods his mouth.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Moonbin asks, one hand still holding onto Sanha’s bicep. It’s probably a good thing, Sanha thinks, because his knees aren’t at their steadiest right now.

Swallowing thickly, he nods. “Yes, just stood up too quickly.” He pulls in a few quick breaths, relieved to find his stomach settling even as his head has sped up its throbbing. He tries to yank on some semblance of a grin for good measure. “I thought you said we had to hurry, hyung?”

“Yeah…” Moonbin says slowly, eyes raking over Sanha’s frame before giving himself a little shake of the head. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go. Get in the car, I’ll get some ice for your wrist.”

Jinwoo’s face is less than pleased when Sanha pulls open the van door. With one raised eyebrow, he points Sanha to the backseat and the open space next to Dongmin and Minhyuk. The front row space, it would seem, is reserved for Moonbin.

“Sorry for being late,” he whispers as he heaves himself into the van. He all but collapses into the seat. The air in the van is stuffy, even with the door open, and the A/C is weak at best from the back row. Great. Just what everyone with a headache wants, warm and stuffy.

“Where’s Binnie?”

Moonbin rounds the van just as Dongmin asks the question. He climbs up next to Jinwoo and Myungjun, pulling the door closed behind him, and buckles in quickly. “Here,” he says, turning to pass an ice pack wrapped in a tea towel over the seat to Sanha.

“You’re hurt?” Jinwoo asks, going instantly worried and alert.

“He fell in the bathroom,” Moonbin explains.

“Aish, pabo,” Myungjun tuts from the front. He shoots Sanha a commiserating smile over the back of the seat.

With a grunt, Minhyuk shoves away Sanha’s clumsy fingers and beats the ice pack a few times until he can wrap it snuggly around Sanha’s wrist. He makes no move to take his own hand back, seemingly content to let it keep the ice pack in place for the rest of the ride.

If only that was the worst of it, Sanha thinks, as the van maneuvers through traffic and his head sends up flares of protest. It isn’t a localized pain anymore, not the singular throbbing it had been ten minutes ago. It’s vaguer now, a general pressure that floats throughout the entirety of his head. Each small turn seem to send his brain careening ninety degrees this way or that and more than once he has to resist the urge to check his head is still attached.

He tunes out the chatter and lets his head rest against the back of the seat. He can’t seem to hold a thought together, so keeping up with their rapid-pace banter is far beyond his capabilities. He tries to run through their latest choreography, pulling the powerful moves to mind and walking through step by step, but he keeps finding himself off in some mental limbo, unsure when he drifted off.

“Sanha?”

He hums an acknowledgement. When did his eyes close? He doesn’t open them. It’s nice in the dark.

“Sanha, we’re here. You have to get up.” Someone shakes his shoulder and something resembling a whimper (but _not_ a whimper _,_ he’ll deny that until his dying day) slips out. Gosh, his head is really aching something fierce.

“Sanha?” The voice is closer and a warm hand presses against his forehead.

“Something’s wrong,” someone adds from close by.

“He doesn’t have a fever. Sanha, can you open your eyes? You’re freaking us out here.”

It’s Jinwoo whose face is blocking his view when he finally drags his eyes open. Jinwoo’s eyes flicker over Sanha’s face and there’s a massive wrinkle between his eyebrows. Sanha wants to reach out and poke it, maybe rub back and forth a bit until it’s smooth, but his hands are heavy. And that’d probably be weird, right? Yeah. That’d be weird.

“Something’s wrong,” Minhyuk repeats from his position next to Sanha. Oh, he’s blocking the door. Myungjun, Jinwoo, and Moonbin were able to get out of the front row, but Sanha’s blocking Minhyuk and Dongmin in. He should move. Unless…are they getting in or out of the car?

“Am I in the way?” he asks, struggling to undo his seatbelt.

“Just wait a minute,” Jinwoo says, reaching out to stop his fumbling fingers. “Sanha, can you look at me? Do you know where you are?”

“Guys? What’s the hold up?” Their manager asks, coming up beside them.

“Something’s wrong with Sanha,” Minhyuk reports.

Rude, Sanha thinks, but he’d much rather go back to sleeping than counter the claim. Since Jinwoo isn’t letting him get up, he lets his head rest against the window frame.

“No, don’t go to sleep,” Jinwoo insists. Minhyuk reaches out and shakes Sanha’s shoulder. He’s a little overzealous in his urgency, probably spurred on by Jinwoo’s alarmed tone, and Sanha’s stomach seems to swoop through his body as he’s jolted. He flails an arm out, just barely managing to shove Jinwoo back, and bends through the door of the van to vomit all over the sidewalk.

“Oh shit,” Moonbin says as the three members outside the van leap back in surprise.

“Move, move,” Dongmin demands, all but shoving Minhyuk past Sanha and out of the van. He takes an emergency flying leap and barely avoids the yellow puddle. Sanha groans as he’s jostled, but Dongmin comes up behind him quickly, wrapping his hands around Sanha’s chest and pulling him back so he’s not dangling half out of the van. “Shh, baby,” he soothes, wiping at Sanha’s face with a rough washcloth, probably from his practice bag, before pressing a water bottle to his lips. “Take a sip.”

“What’s going on?” Myungjun asks, voice stretched thin and high, but it’s barely audible over the manager on the phone. Sanha ignores them both, savoring the water in his mouth. It’s not cold, but the room temperature liquid is soothing without shocking his senses. Dongmin’s hands card through his fringe and along his back and really, truly Sanha could just fall asleep right here. Have they finished their schedule for the day yet? Can he go home now? Maybe he’ll find someone to flop on for the night. Myungjun’s usually eager enough. Truthfully though, a quick pout is typically enough to get any of the members to give in to his demands for cuddles.

Behind him, Dongmin goes rigid for a moment, pausing in his ministrations. “Sanha, did you hit your head?” he asks. His fingers, previously focused mostly on playing with his fringe, probe at the side of Sanha’s head, sending a spark of white hot pain through his skull. Sanha jerks away, groaning and trying to bite back tears. They came quick, an instinctive reaction, but he won’t live it down if the hyungs see so much as one tear fall. He presses a hand to the side of his head and leans against the front seat, pulling sharp breaths in through his mouth.

“A head wound would make sense with his symptoms,” Moonbin says. “He was on the floor when I found him in the bathroom.”

With an awkward lunge, Jinwoo half climbs into the van, one foot on the side walk and one foot on the car floor. He tugs gently at Sanha’s face until he gives in and looks up.

“Ddana, did you hit your head?” he asks, voice soft and gentle. Sanha melts, pressing his cheek into Jinwoo’s palm, and offers a faint nod. It hurts so much he wants to cry, to really let it all out, but he doesn’t want to hold them back. He’s not sure what they’re supposed to be doing right now, but if Jinwoo says he needs Sanha to get up on stage right this second, then he’ll do it. He’ll make it work somehow.

“Aigoo,” Jinwoo coos.

“It’s on the right side, I think,” Dongmin says, “a bit above his ear.”

Jinwoo’s fingers skirt over his scalp, barely putting any pressure, until they locate what’s probably a substantial bump by now. “Jeez, kid, you really took a hit, didn’t you?”

“Alright,” the manager says, reappearing as he tucks his phone in his pocket. “I’ll take Sanha to the hospital and get his head looked at. The rest of you need to do the two interviews. I’ll ask the production staff to put a little note in saying Sanha was sick to explain his absence.”

“Shouldn’t one of us go with him to the hospital?” Myungjun asks, stepping around the puddle to reach out and pet Sanha’s shoulder.

The manager shakes his head. “No, we can’t be down two members. The second schedule includes a performance remember. I’ll go with him and you can all see him tonight. If it comes up, just say he’s under the weather. Keep it light and don’t mention the head wound at all.”

“Sanha, did you hear that?” Jinwoo asks, prodding his cheek gently. His eyes are closed again. When did that happen?

“Yes, I was listening,” he promises. Barely, he doesn’t add.

“Alright. Go with manager-nim then and we’ll see you tonight, alright?”

He hums an assent. Between Dongmin and Jinwoo, he’s manhandled back into his seat and buckled in. Someone provides a jacket-turned-pillow for him to rest his head on and the water bottle and a plastic bag (”just in case”) are tucked within reach. With the ice pack relocated to his head, he’s finally deemed tucked enough for the ride to the hospital.

“We’ll see you tonight, Ddana,” Jinwoo says. The echoes of well-wishes are cut off as the van door slides closed.

The dark is blissful.

~*~*~

He wakes up to someone hissing “Shh, be quiet! Sanha’s asleep!” He has no idea what time it is, but it must be early evening if the rest of the group is getting back. He can hear the shuffle of shoes being kicked off and tired bodies collapsing on their couch. The usual cacophony is a gentle din, though.

Light from the hallway crawls across the room and Sanha blinks bleary towards it. The small form in his doorway is unmistakable.

“MJ-hyung,” he croaks and Myungjun beams.

“You’re awake!” His enthusiasm is as strong as ever, but Sanha is immensely relieved to receive such enthusiasm at a much lower volume than is typical of their eldest. Sanha rolls over so he’s facing Myungjun, who takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He runs a small hand over Sanha’s shoulder as he speaks.

“How are you feeling, baby?”

“Better,” he answers with a yawn. It’s true. The painkillers he was given at the hospital were no joke and the ache in his head is a mere fraction of what it’d been earlier.

“Is it alright for you to be sleeping? Manager-nim said you had a mild concussion. Aren’t you supposed to wake people up with concussions?”

“No, the doctor said people don’t do that anymore. He said if my brain was going to bleed to death, it would have done it within the first few hours, so it’s okay to sleep now.”

“That’s comforting,” Myungjun says stiffly, eyes skirting across Sanha’s head as though rogue blood could be leaking out every which way.

“Hyung,” he whines until Myungjun finally meets his eyes. “I’m okay, really.”

“Ya, Yoon Sanha. You have a concussion. That is absolutely the opposite of okay.”

Sanha pulls back slightly, dropping his gaze to stare at his bedspread. He nibbles on his lip for a moment, before finally letting his guilt come out. “Are they mad?”

“Mad?” Myungun repeats, bewildered. “Who?”

“The team. Jinwoo-hyung…” The words burst out of him, “I have to miss schedules for at least ten days, maybe more depending on what the doctor says. And he wrote down all sorts of stuff about limiting physical activity and screen time and, well, just all sorts of rules. It’s going to be such a pain! All because I was stupid and slipped in the bathroom.”

Myungjun tuts loudly. “I guess we’ve failed you as hyungs if you think we’d be mad at you for getting a concussion. It’s not like you did it on purpose. Heck, you weren’t even messing around at the time.” He brings his hand up to gently pet the baby hairs at the back of Sanha’s neck. “We’re just worried about you, baby. You really scared us earlier.”

The morning is a bit of a haze, but he can definitely recall the taste of vomit and the never ending swaying sensation. “Yeah, that car ride did me in…”

“MJ-hyung.” The whine is the only warning they get before Minhyuk knocks the door open with his hip, an armful of beverages taking up his hands. “Quit hogging Sanha. This is my only dongsaeng, you know. You’ve got loads, go dote on them.” He drops to his knees next to the bed and goes about righting the small avalanche of bottles. Myungjun frowns and slides down on the bed, but doesn’t leave. “Jinwoo-hyung said I should bring you something to drink, and I thought something with the fancy electrolytes and stuff might be good, but I also brought chocolate and banana milks if you’d prefer those. But there’s regular water too, if that sounds better.” Either they just about bought out the closest convenience store on their way home, which he wouldn’t put past them, or they scavenged every beverage in the dorm to come up with such a rainbow assortment. It’s a pleasing thought either way. He points at a purple Gatorade, which Minhyuk immediately unscrews for him. “Oh,” he says, reaching to his back pocket, “and here’s a cold pack. Moonbin thought it might be good for your head.”

It is good for his head. The coolness is blissfully refreshing. The cold washcloth he’d laid down with went warm hours ago. Fondness blossoms in his chest as Minhyuk’s tongue peeks through his teeth as he tries to arrange the cold pack for maximum coverage with minimal slipping risk.

This is how Minhyuk does it, burying you under tokens of affection rather than putting his fears and love to words, but the message is received just the same.

“Thank you,” he offers quietly.

“Yeah, no problem,” Minhyuk dismisses easily, settling back to admire his work.

“Yah, I told you both not to bother him,” Jinwoo scolds from the doorway. From behind him Dongmin and Moonbin, seeing Sanha awake, push past quickly and crowd around the bed, Dongmin on the bed with Myungjun and Moonbin on the floor with Minhyuk. “Hey, wait for me,” Jinwoo pouts. He stands at the end of the bed and reaches out to rub Sanha’s toes through the blanket. “How you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m okay,” he assures.

Jinwoo smiles, pinching his toe for a moment. “I doubt that, but we’ll get you back on your feet soon enough. Do you need anything to eat? You seem to be well stocked on beverages. Rocky, when I said get him a drink, I mean offer him choices first, then bring the drinks. Not to bring everything in here. It’ll get all warm.” With a loud sigh, Minhyuk gets to his feet and totes the drinks out, stopping repeatedly as everyone takes something from the pile for themselves, including Jinwoo himself.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Moonbin asks, but Dongmin shakes his head before Sanha can reply.

“The doctor said to avoid screen time for a little bit. Probably best to stay in bed.” A bummer too because a cuddle pile with a good movie sounds just about perfect right now. Of course they’d be diligent in following the rules. It’s certainly going to be a boring few days while they’re out at schedules and he’s trapped home, with severely limited phone and computer time.

“Well then we’ll all stay here,” Minhyuk says, returning to drop back onto the floor, “and gossip about MJ-hyung and Jinjin-hyung.”

Sanha can’t help the cascade of giggles that tumble out at Jinwoo’s exaggeratedly insulted face. “We’re right here,” Jinwoo protests.

“Yeah, so, fair game then because you’re here to defend yourselves,” Minhyuk says with a shrug. He makes a show of settling in more comfortably before turning to Sanha to ask, “Did I ever tell you about the time JinJin-hyung got his arm stuck in a vending machine? Because that was a great day. I didn’t know he knew so many swears-”

“Should we disown them?” Myungjun whispers loudly. His eyes are wide and serious, but his mouth twitches at the corners.

Sanha watches as Jinwoo makes a show of glancing over them, evaluating them like horses at auction before his gaze finally meets Sanha’s. He hums thoughtfully, before giving a little shake of his head. With a wink at Sanha, he says, “Nah, let’s keep them.”

* * *

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**Author's Note:**

> Comments & kudos mean the world to me >.< Thanks for reading!


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